


Red Decade

by sirenofodysseus



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: ...like anyone expected differently of me, And love, Drabble Collection, F/F, F/M, Gen, There's gonna be murder, You're Welcome, a decade of fics!, all unfinished, and all of the things you've come to love/hate me for, and fluff, seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:47:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21938446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirenofodysseus/pseuds/sirenofodysseus
Summary: In honor of the '10 decade coming to a close (and the countless TM fics I've written this decade), here are the uncompleted fics that my hard drive has guarded for ten beautiful years. Here's to another ten years!
Kudos: 6





	1. Family in Sangria

**Author's Note:**

> Between my FF account (iloveplotbunnies) and my AO3 account (sirenofodysseus), I've been writing The Mentalist fanfic for ten years -- which is an impressive feat, considering I usually get bored with myself after five minutes. ;) Although these drabbles will probably never be brought to fruition or completed -- I wanted to share them because sharing is caring! 
> 
> ...but with all seriousness, thanks to all the people who have read, commented, viewed, side-eyed and ultimately groaned at my fics for the past decade. I'd say let's go for another decade, but I think I might be pushing it... hahaha. 
> 
> For the first ficlet, it's called a Family in Sangria (Year Written: 2013). 
> 
> Warnings: mentions of murder, abuse, drug-use, etc...

In 1984, Jeremy Anders welcomed a six pound-seven-ounce bundle of joy into the world by murdering her mother. The young woman had proved herself more of a hindrance than a help, especially after he had overheard the surrogate tell her sister that she was leaving Visualize (and in turn, him) after the birth of _her_ child.

To Jeremy, it truly was a pity and a shame that another child would grow up without a mother; his mother had only raised him, and for the most part, he had turned out just fine. Of course, his mother never approved of his ties with Visualize, but Brother Bret Stiles knew what he was talking about when it came to “purifying the human race of conmen and liars.”

Regardless of his mother’s disproval (and her general refusal to meet her new granddaughter), Jeremy still only had a problem with the mother of his child. Brother Stiles had privately informed him that Amelia had been sleeping around within the compound and that the possibility of this child being his was slim to none; but he honestly didn’t care.

From outside the small maternity ward, Jeremy watched his daughter. Wrapped in a soft pink baby blanket, the little girl slept; completely ignorant to the dark circumstances surrounding her birth and the man, she would one day call “Daddy”.

He had always wanted a child. A smaller him, whom he could teach, help and love unconditionally and without question; and now, he did. He had a little girl, who would ultimately rely on and trust him for the next few years and if he had to be honest with himself, it made him anxious. Jeremy feared messing up; he also feared the idea that she would ever hate him. He also feared becoming just like his drunkard and abusive father, because he didn’t want to drive her into making the same horrible life choices that his father had forced him into.

Jeremy blinked at the thought and frowned, before he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Congratulations, Jeremy,” Bret Stiles said, a smile in his voice. “Your daughter is truly blessed and beautiful. It will forever be a shame that Amelia’s dying breath wasn’t spent on asking to hold her child,” Jeremy’s frown contorted into a grimace. Amelia’s last dying breath had been to call his daughter “a mistake” and to tell him how she should have terminated the pregnancy early on. “But, maybe,” Bret continued, softly, “it’s for the best.”

Jeremy continued to grimace, as he kept a watchful eye on his daughter. “Amelia went against everything we value and work toward, Brother. I did you a favor, which I refuse to apologize for.” If Bret wanted to make an example out of him, then so be it; he had only been trying to minimize a security risk and by ridding Visualize of Amelia, he was protecting their beloved leader as well. “As for cleaning up my messes, you shouldn’t worry. I handled it myself, Brother.” Amelia’s death, if ever investigated by the Federal Bureau of Investigation or the California Bureau of Investigation, would be written-off as an accidental overdose; the puncture holes he had painstakingly placed between her toes would turn her investigation from the idea of murder to drug-related in a matter of hours.

“Good,” Bret replied, before both men grew quiet. Jeremy would never voice his current question aloud, but a part of him questioned Bret’s intention of visiting a child, who wasn’t even a day old yet. “You’ve been with me for how many years now, my friend? Almost eight?” Jeremy nodded. Bret had found him quite down on his luck, nearly eight years ago, and had helped to turn his life around in a positive way. He knew he owed Bret his life, but his daughter was not about to become a part of that debt repayment. His sins, after all, were not hers to bear. “I have always admired your loyalty toward me, but alas, I know this,” he motioned toward the sleeping infant, “is going to rearrange your priorities.”

“I asked for two weeks of leave, Bret,” Jeremy answered. “I’ll be back to lead your security team afterwards, I promise. I am loyal to you and our cause, Brother.” He watched Bret shake his head from the corner of his eye and Jeremy stared at him. “What?”

“Take a moment to recollect your thoughts, Jeremy,” Bret ordered. “I’m not getting rid of you, or questioning your loyalty for me. I just think your talents could be better utilized elsewhere, for a while anyway.” Jeremy turned slightly to catch the tail end of Bret’s kind smile. “I’ve seen your handiwork on our barns, my friend. I want your help in creating more of them.”

“I…” Jeremy began. He didn’t really know how to apologize for defacing Visualize property.

“Don’t worry about it. Brother Cooper is the only one of us, who dislikes your creative talents,” Bret interrupted. “Happiness is a unique concept to us all, Jeremy. Killing seems to make you happy; it’s obvious from your smiley face with its jilted smile.” Jeremy said nothing. When he had created that particular smiley face, drawn in the blood of several victims, he had had been lighting joints and drinking alcohol within the giant red barn. Bret probably figured out that he and Amelia hadn’t been doing “work” on that particular night, nearly ten months ago, but Jeremy didn’t actually care. That night, as stupid as his actions had been, lead to the creation of his precious daughter and he wouldn’t have it any other way. “Your smiley face and talents with a knife are underappreciated, Jeremy. I want to encourage your skills, by allotting you the chance to do what makes you happiest; while giving you an unlimited amount of time to be with…”

“Grace,” Jeremy answered, smiling at the use of his daughter’s name. “Grace Averie Anders.” After Amelia had discovered she was pregnant, Amelia had told him that she desired to name the child Zoe. Jeremy, however, had other plans; the name “Grace” had been one of his favorites, ever since his mother had sang “Amazing Grace” to him at the age of eight-years-old.

“You chose well,” Bret commented and Jeremy nodded in agreement. “Grace Averie is a strong name, meaning Charm and Elf Ruler.” Bret continued to smile. “We can expect great and wonderful things from this child, even if she might not be fully yours. With you as her father, Jeremy, I expect that you will teach her the Visualize ways?”

“Of course, Brother,” Jeremy lied through his teeth. Bret’s smile grew. “As for your offer, may I have some time to consider it? Today has been a long day for all of us, sir.”

“Yes, my boy,” Bret answered. Jeremy nearly sighed in relief. “Take your time; I shall be back in a week to discuss options with you.” Bret’s touch disappeared from his shoulder, before Jeremy grimaced again.

Once upon a time, he had followed Bret’s instructions without question; but now, he wanted nothing to do with Visualize, for the sake of his daughter. It was a dangerous thought to tempt the idea of leaving the church, but the idea that Bret wanted to use _his_ daughter to promote his beliefs made Jeremy cringe. Grace deserved the chance to follow her own path and dreams—and if, by change, that path led her back to Visualize, Jeremy would respect her ultimate decision and stand behind her.

Until that moment, however, Jeremy knew he’d have to accept Bret’s offer to keep the man’s presence in Grace’s life to a minimum.

“I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe, Grace,” Jeremy promised, staring at his daughter, who already had him wrapped around her littlest finger. “I love you.”

And the little girl continued to sleep, completely unaware of the world or the people around her.


	2. Root of Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Root of Pain, Written 2013. 
> 
> Pairing: Bret Stiles/Patrick Jane
> 
> Warnings: Non-con, abuse, torture, self-harm.

Patrick Jane lived by two rules: simplicity and karma. He did not live, however, by the dogmas of any spirituality or the concepts of materialistic belongings either. He had long ago given up on the flashy clothing, sleek vehicles, and the concept of “good things happen to good people” as a fully embraced member of the Visualize organization didn’t have such things.

While Brother Bret Stiles preached nonsense, Jane hadn’t joined Visualize for its highly coveted leader; he had joined for the promise of sanction, handed down by Bret himself. Jane had never defined himself as being either sadistic or masochistic, yet, he still found himself begging for more punishments from Bret. Because he had never been able to stomach the idea of pulling a knife across his own wrists or killing himself, Jane had to beg for something to help alleviate the crushing guilt that came from the murders of his beautiful wife and baby girl.

Jane might not have sliced them open himself, but his words on national television had still attracted Red John to his lavish lifestyle and for that, he had to pay. He refused to die, as death was too simple; very few people were truly sorry enough in life and Jane doubted the sincerity in his own apologies for the ways he had treated Angela. Bret, with his fake smiles and mightier-than-thou attitude, understood that; and that was why (aside from the sanction) Jane had joined Visualize, mere days after the end of his life as a fraud and as a conman.

As long as he offered up his own undying loyalty and devotion, Bret had promised him pain and suffering. From his own calculations and observations, Jane knew he had exactly fifty-four scars from Bret’s promise; and still, those fifty-four scars weren’t enough. While his back and buttocks bared the weight from his physical sins, his mind and soul still bared the worst of it all—Bret’s _promise_ to him, after a few weeks, had strongly deviated from what they had both agreed on in the beginning.

**◊**

_“You are a glutton for punishment, Patrick,” Bret commented, as Jane followed behind him. He said nothing in response, silently observing that Bret had bypassed their usual adjourning location for a hidden panel in the wall. Beyond the hidden panel, Bret smiled warmly and welcomed him into his tastefully decorated master suite. “I’ve done plenty of writing within this room, my friend. I wrote_ Visualize: A Tool for Living _from that very desk.” Bret motioned toward the black marble fireplace, where a cherry oak writing desk sat off to the side. “I’ve also used this room to show my protégées their full potentials,” Bret’s hand patted the plumb velvet comforter atop his king-sized bed and Jane moved to sit beside him. “I’m beyond thrilled that I’ve finally had the chance to show you inside my bed chambers, Patrick. I’ve dreamt about this moment for weeks.” Jane felt Bret’s hand on his knee, before the touch slowly moved from his knee to his upper thigh. “You’re such a beautiful creature, damaged by your own choices in life. I can fix you, Patrick, if you’ll let me…”Bret’s other hand stroked his jaw gently._

_“Don’t,” Jane interrupted, flinching at the gentle caresses. “Our agreement isn’t cuddles and caresses, Bret. It’s…”_

_He didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence, as Bret’s hand connected with his face. Jane quickly glanced down at his hands, which remained in his lap._

_“It would do you well, Patrick, to remember your place,” Bret replied, coolly. “I own you; agreement or not, you will not object to my cuddles, punishments or caresses.” Jane kept his head bowed. “And now that you’ve objected, I have to show what disobeying and refusing orders get you.”_

_In a silent mixture of horror and acceptance, Jane allowed Bret to push him back on the bed and straddle his hips. Bret’s nimble fingers worked at the button and zipper on his trousers, before Jane felt Bret’s callused hands wander past the elastic on his boxers and dance across his inner thigh._

_I deserve this, Jane thought, as Bret tore the boxers from his body._

_I deserve this, Jane thought, as his length entered Bret’s mouth._

_I deserve this, Jane thought, as Bret’s teeth scraped the foreskin of his cock and he fought back a guttural moan of pleasure._

_I deserve this, Jane thought, as Bret forced him onto his stomach and rammed his cock into the curvature of Jane’s ass._

_Bret’s mounting grunts and pants kept Jane quiet; he bit into his bottom lip, until the taste of copper and salt overwhelmed his senses. He closed his eyes and attempted to count to a million._

_1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6…_

_Bret’s fingernails sliced down his back._

_7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12…_

_Bret’s teeth bit into his shoulder._

_13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18…_

_Bret’s slick hands squeezed at his cock, eliciting a shiver of pleasure down Jane’s spine._

_19…19…19…19…19…19…_

_What number came after 19?_

_Bret’s groan—low and long—caused Jane to shudder and grip the velvet comforter tightly. He didn’t_ want _to be aroused, he didn’t want to feel Bret’s cock straining inside of him, he didn’t want to feel the hot juices, escaping down his inner thighs, or the slamming thrusts by Bret to force the entire the entire length of his cock into a tight space._

_“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Bret asked, lowly; as Jane felt the tip of Bret’s cock probing the outside of his ass again. Jane continued to bite down on his lip. “You can moan, Patrick. I’m granting you this gift…” Jane said nothing and he felt Bret’s hand cupping around his cock again, before a sharp pressure had Jane crying out. Bret’s hand collided with his face again. “I said you could moan, not cry.”_

_Jane opened his mouth to apologize. “I…”_

_“We both know you aren’t,” Bret interrupted. “But you will be.” Jane didn’t understand Bret’s cryptic statement, until he felt Bret’s fists slam into his face and abdomen without warning or mercy. “I promise that I’ll teach you how to be truly sorry, Patrick.” His fists didn’t still. “After all, apathy is such a waste, don’t you agree?”_

**◊**

The additional lessons from Bret hadn’t taught him how to be truly sorry; the lessons had only taught him how to conceal the evidence of Bret’s “gentle” touch. He wore a pair of junked sunglasses to hide the bruising around his eyes and he kept his distance from outsiders, who would never understand the burdens he carried on his shoulders.

Jane knew he had fallen far and hard. Over the course of his life, he had gone from being the Boy Wonder, to being a fake psychic, to being a widower, and to finally becoming addicted to drugs. He hadn’t wanted to become a “drug junkie”, but what other options were there. Bret’s touch drove him to the use of narcotics, as the toxic combination of meth, cocaine and ecstasy helped to dissociate him from the nightly meetings with Bret.

Bret’s sanctions, before their nightly meetings, hadn’t taught him selflessness or inner peace either. He also knew that Bret’s actions couldn’t make him into a perfect Visualize member, as he still held tightly to his self-centered and arrogant ways; one such example lied in the little black book that he kept hidden within a hollowed-out copy of Bret’s latest “bestseller”. Bret would never understand his need to keep such an “angry and personal” item around, but that little black book held all the information he knew on Red John.

Sacramento Police Department had been detrimental in the collection of his information, as some of the detectives had loose lips when it came to the Red John investigation. Jane had learned from Junior Detective Stephen Chase—an insecure and flighty man with a dry sense of humor—that Red John was way above their collective pool of resources. He knew the case would soon be either the Federal Bureau of Investigation or the California Bureau of Investigation to investigate, and he was patiently gathering his contacts in both agencies by promising highly sensitive information on Visualize. 

He was playing a dangerous game with both Red John and Bret Stiles, but Jane had nothing left to lose. Red John had stripped him of his family and Bret had stripped him of his dignity, which only inspired Jane to learn all he could about Red John and his operation; it was why he spent most of his spare time researching, off-property.


	3. she's out there on her own, (and she's alright)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the sky blue envelope smelling of cinnamon and sage is the symbol of her burning insanity for a woman, who is halfway across the world and on her own. TL/KF

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in 2014. 
> 
> Kim Fischer/Teresa Lisbon
> 
> Oh, light the sky and hold on tight  
> The world is burning down  
> She’s out there on her own, and she’s all right
> 
> Sunny Come Home – Shawn Colvin

It doesn’t take her two years to receive the first letter. It takes three weeks, six hours and twenty minutes for the crumpled-up letter to be shoved through her mail slot and it takes another two days, three hours and five minutes before she forces herself to read the damned letter. Kim Fischer is _many_ things and a good (patient) lover is not one of those _many things_ ; the sky blue envelope smelling of cinnamon and sage makes her anger spike and causes a heat in the pit of her stomach to coil tightly.

No, Kim Fischer is both _impatient_ and _selfish_ when it comes to love. So, she _tries_ to blame the sender for their distance. It’s why she ignores the letter for two days, and it’s why she almost does the _right thing_ by telling Abbott that Teresa Lisbon wrote to her…but the right thing, to Kim, is (of course) the wrong thing to do.

Abbott, she thinks, has never been in love. If he had, she thinks he’d understand that love makes you do stupid things. It makes you keep secrets and hide small trinkets in crawlspaces, but it also makes you _insane_ and Kim Fischer thinks she likes being quite insane.

(And the sky blue envelope smelling of cinnamon and sage is the symbol of her burning insanity for a woman, who is halfway across the world and on her own.)

Surprisingly, Jane hints at her to open the letter.

“The victim left a letter for her lover,” Jane comments to her, sipping at his tea, as they’re poring over a case file. Kim nearly chokes, Abbott doesn’t notice. “If I were the lover, I’d want to know why. I wouldn’t want our last goodbye to be several bullets and prison bars.”

She doesn’t ask how he knows, only because Jane seems to know everything.

Instead, she takes his advice and opens the letter with the full intention of getting drunk later on. 

_Kim,_ she reads.

(She doesn’t make it past the first sentence, before she’s angry again. Teresa should be _here_ and not out on her own, running from the cops for a crime she didn’t commit.)

::::

Abbott tells her to _check herself_ when she storms into the bullpen, eyes red, and blames _him_ for half-assed investigating. She blames him for not doing his job, properly. She blames him for forcing her through this heartache. Jane doesn’t seem too surprised; Cho’s in the kitchenette and Wiley’s mouth is wide open in surprise. Kim doesn’t stand down from Abbott’s glare, instead she decides to plop herself down aside Jane on his couch. Abbott eventually excuses himself and out of sight, later on, Jane wraps his arm around her and indiscreetly tells her _Lisbon will be all right._

(She bets he knows the _true_ reason for her outburst; the fact that she—they— may never see Teresa alive again.)

“I never did learn what the victim said to the lover,” Jane speaks and Kim glances back at him, hiding her frown.

“The same thing you’ve been telling me for four weeks,” Kim replies, softly. “We’ll be all right.”


End file.
